Walter stood on the pier at Upper Lake looking down the long stretch of water. A mist gathered before his eyes and blurred his vision. For the moment he was alone. His father and Mr. Harrison were over by “Woodcraft Girl,” which was made fast farther down the pier, and were talking earnestly with Louis Woodhull. How beautiful it was, and how hard to leave. What a glorious summer it had been!

His thoughts ran back to the morning when he had stood in this same place with Big Jim and felt for the first time the mystery of the great wilderness. Was it possible that that was only eight weeks before? What a lot had happened in that short time! What a tenderfoot he had been! How much he had thought he knew of woodcraft, and how little it had been compared with what he knew now.

[338] And yet even now he had learned little more than the elementary lessons. Big Jim had been right; “Woodcraft never yet was larned out o’ books.” And still how much he owed to those same books. In the light of the knowledge obtained from them how much better he had been able to apply the lessons learned from his practical experiences. Even the big guide had come to see this, and had grudgingly admitted that there might be some good in the despised books, after all.

Walter stretched his arms out toward the lake and the mountains. “How I hate to leave it all,” he said, unconsciously speaking aloud.

“Same here,” said Hal Harrison, who had come up behind him unobserved. “And a few weeks ago I would have given anything I possessed to get away. Now I can’t wait for next summer to come, so that I can get back here. You’ll be back, of course?”

“I don’t know. I want to. Seems as if I’d simply got to. It’s all a matter of whether Dad can afford to let me,” replied Walter frankly.

Just then there was a warning toot from the [339] engine attached to the single coach which was to take them over to Upper Chain to connect with the New York express. Woodhull came up to say good-bye. He, with some of the older boys, would remain in camp for the opening of the hunting season. “I shall look for you back next year, Upton,” he said extending his left hand for the Scout grip. “The Delawares need him,” he added, as he shook hands with Mr. Upton.

Then turning to Hal with his winning smile he said, “Hal, if we didn’t have so much regard for Avery the Delawares would certainly annex you too.”

At Upper Chain there was a half hour wait, and the boys started out for a final look at the sawmill village. Suddenly Walter caught sight of a familiar figure. “Jim! Oh, you Jim!” he whooped in delight.

At the sound the big guide turned and his face lighted with pleasure as he strode over to the boys. “I was afraid I was goin’ t’ miss yer, son,” he drawled. “Jest got back from th’ county seat, whar I’ve been t’ see th’ last o’ a friend o’ yourn, leastwise fer some time, I reckon.”

[340] “Red Pete?” exclaimed both boys together.

The guide grinned. “You’ve sure hit th’ right trail,” he said. “Pete’s on his way to whar he won’t hev t’ lock th’ doors t’ keep folks from takin’ a look at his shakedown. He’ll be in a sort o’ permanent camp ’fore sundown—ten years at hard labor. When thet picter o’ yourn, son, was sprung on him he broke down an’ owned up t’ a lot more mischief than jest th’ killin’ o’ th’ King o’ Lonesome. Th’ warden got him thet day o’ the fire on Old Scraggy. When th’ warden an’ deputy got t’ the hanted cabin they found Pete wasn’t ter hum. So they made themselves comfortable an’ waited. Long ’bout four o’clock in th’ afternoon Pete walked right into their arms, an’ didn’t seem none pleased t’ see ’em.

“I hed a suspicion thet Pete knew somethin’ ’bout thet fire on Scraggy, an’ when they charged him with it he owned up thet he hed set it t’ git even with Dr. Merriam fer puttin’ the warden on his trail. I reckon, son, thet if Pete had knowed what thet leetle picter box o’ yourn was goin’ t’ do t’ him he’d ’a’ smashed [341] it plumb t’ pieces th’ mornin’ yer met up with him an’ me over thar in th’ deepo. Well,” he sniffed the sawdust-scented air, “seems t’ me th’ air in these old woods will smell some sweeter now thet he ain’t a-taintin’ it no more.”

When they returned to the railway station they found another familiar face awaiting them. It was Pat Malone. A broad grin overspread his freckled face as they approached. Walter was delighted. He had seen nothing of Pat for the last week, and it was with real regret that he had left Woodcraft without an opportunity to say good-bye.<............